[She doesn't gasp. But her breath does catch, just a little; her hips ease back, down, a shift that leaves her legs that much more open, more room for Kate's fingers.
But she isn't done talking. Or thinking. Or beyond accepting the offer of a ceramic knife, which makes her grin, even as she gives a little shiver.]
Neither of them are better guys. I don't like better, or good.
[And truthfully she doesn't want to think of Charles Xavier right now, or Erik, or anything that isn't the warm pressure of Kate, against her, teasing at her. That's one good that she does like, the only good that she wants to think of, right now.]
But I want-- [And she arches back, just a little, her grin spread lazily across her face--] --I want your knife.
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But she isn't done talking. Or thinking. Or beyond accepting the offer of a ceramic knife, which makes her grin, even as she gives a little shiver.]
Neither of them are better guys. I don't like better, or good.
[And truthfully she doesn't want to think of Charles Xavier right now, or Erik, or anything that isn't the warm pressure of Kate, against her, teasing at her. That's one good that she does like, the only good that she wants to think of, right now.]
But I want-- [And she arches back, just a little, her grin spread lazily across her face--] --I want your knife.